


I Don't Think I Would Exactly Call It Love

by Alexei2020, Parksborn



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Also: lack of proper aftercare, Anger, Author has weird kinks, Bad Spanish, Claire Temple is a Beast, Claire is done with their shit, Confused Queers, Daddy Kink, Daredevil typical violence, Denial, Dom/sub Undertones, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Introspection, M/M, Matt Murdock ruins his own life, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker and his noncon knifeplay aftercare, Poor Life Choices, Religion, Self indulgent kink fic, Sick Character, Sickfic, The fragility of love and life, Two Supes Bad At Feelings, Violence, everybodys hurting, idiot vigilantes fight to protect everyone but themselves, instability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexei2020/pseuds/Alexei2020, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parksborn/pseuds/Parksborn
Summary: "Caught in a street fight, you need a life line--go on and use me." - Street Fight, Small Pools
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Peter Parker
Kudos: 9





	I Don't Think I Would Exactly Call It Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spiffed-up roleplay, so no one knows exactly what the hell is going on at any given time. We have some things in the works, so bear with us. Promise, there is an actual plot involved. This is going somewhere. It's just got a muddy middle. We are two chaotic beings, we are all over the place, and Matt and Peter suffer because of it.
> 
> The authors of this thing are horny idiots who somehow fell in love during this. It shows. We apologize in advance. - Mister
> 
> Give this labor of love a chance! Also, since music is my Thing, here's a good tracklist for this chapter:  
> Street Fight by Smallpools  
> Staying up by The Neighborhood  
> Lincoln by Banks  
> Holy by Jake Edwards  
> \- PEM

Recently, Matt's patrol route has been a nightly merry-go-round of 'out-of-his-way,' difficult to get to, 'stayed out too long' bullshit; mostly wherein he stumbles back home around four or five in the morning and collapses on the couch with a whiskey poured too full. Half the time, dripping blood on the living room carpet. The other half, he doesn’t remember getting home at all. But, he's always ended up okay. Presently, however, things were not much different than they have been, beside the fact that Peter's heartbeat has joined the mix. Quite near Matt, actually. Which... irritates him. The sound of it; that it was present; and simply the fact that it irritates him at all. He has this handled. May be running on fumes and spite lately, but he absolutely has this handled.

"Spider-Man," Matt grunts gruffly. "What are you doing here," he demands, tone hushed but urgent.

And, ouch.

Okay, so Peter may or may not have deserved that. But it's not like he stood Matt up on purpose. And it's not his fault that defusing the bank robbery took him longer than first anticipated. "Hey, Red. You don't have a monopoly on idiots with guns, y'know?" he says easily, because what else is he supposed to do--if not rub salt in the wound? He should probably apologize, which would be the decent-boyfriend thing to do… But when has Peter ever done anything without choosing the Difficult setting?

He flicks a wrist towards a guy who needs a serious wardrobe upgrade, (Seriously, dude. It's not the 90's anymore. Clothes that actually fit are a thing.) and a string of thin silk connects with his oversized hoodie. He yanks on the web, sending him flying overhead, and sends another string of webs after him to trap him against the wall.

Matt side steps a stumbling, injured criminal, desperate to get away. He seems to let the kid go. Until he lands a solid connect with the back of the runner's head with a club. Crack. Matt, ever so briefly, grins to himself, then lets the feeling pass just as quickly as he had fractured the criminal's skull. He faces Peter, sheathing the billy club with a huff. "And it's irresponsible of you to just jump in any fight you please," Matt chastises, somewhat harsh. And a little self-righteous. "Especially if they have guns," Matt continues, that hint of a smirk still on his lips. Something he's fully aware that it pisses Peter off, but Matt certainly is in a fighting mood.

Peter webs up a handgun from one of the gang members, and glares at Matt through his mask. He suppresses the urge to stick his tongue out. (That’s childish, Peter.) The weapon collapses in his grip like a paper crane. "I think I'm gonna be fine," he grits through his teeth, and punches another overzealous thug. Peter isn't in the mood to have this discussion. It always ends up the same way, and they are already kind of on edge. Peter came here to make things better, after all.

Matt scoffs, and kicks a waking, squirming criminal in the ribs for good measure. Maybe a little more harshly than necessary; but he’s definitely not going anywhere now. Matt props a booted foot on the small of the man’s back. He’s giving an air of cockiness but he feels like death in a red leather suit. And Peter's attitude isn’t helping.

“Yeah, you’ll be fine until you’re not,” Matt scoffs.

Peter winces at Matt's tone. It's not even fair that he gets to be mad about it. This is who he is. This is what he does. And Matt, out of everyone, should know that. It hurts a little — just like every other time it's brought up. No matter what he does, it's never good enough. Matt certainly isn't the only one who thinks that, but it stings a hell of a lot more, hearing it from him. "Well, it looks like you got this covered." He webs down the poor guy underneath Matt's boot and jumps up on the nearest fire escape. _He’s too rough._

There is a moment of panic, relief, and gratefulness as Matt avoids getting his foot webbed to the assailant for the next hour. He can't confidently say if that was intended for one, or both of them... Matt heaves a sigh, angling his head up towards Peter. Clearly, Matt's not the only one pissed off and tired tonight. He considers snapping at the kid — but he's been up for days and he just can't seem to re-lid the anger when it's been given an out lately. "...I'm done, if you're done," he rumbles quietly, standing alone, bloodied, in a small sea of busted up criminals. "It's late," he says, acquiescing. Meant as a reconcile, he waits for Peter's reaction.

And then decides not to. "Come to my place," he offers, though it sounds like a gruff order. "...I'll buy you pizza."

Peter sighs. Feels the heat dissolve around him. He can see Matt is tired. When did he last sleep? Peter might be able to go a week without shutting his eyes, but sometimes it's easy to forget that Matt is just human. He has basic needs just like everyone else. "Yeah... Yeah, pizza sounds good — " He nods. He lets his eyes rake over the body standing in the alley, and wiggles his finger in his direction " — and then I'm putting you to bed."

Matt bites the inside of his busted lip to keep himself from smiling. He's exhausted, and in a terrible, no-good, very bad "I'm going to go violently ballistic in the street" kind of mood. And then there's Peter. Who, granted, irritates the hell out of him — but who also has an uncanny ability to soothe. And admit it or not, that's exactly what he needs. What he wants however — "Does that mean you'll come with me?" He asks over his shoulder as he heads towards his apartment. "We could toss each other 'round a little." Delirious innuendo. Shit-eating, bloody grin. Last high before he's out like a light. Might as well spend it seducing his boyfriend, right — ?

Peter laughs, a bright, bubbling sound, and hauls himself up on the roof. "If you can even stand when we get home, I'll give you a treat, Red," he promises. With the way Matt looks, though… He doubts he'll be awake enough to get to the bedroom before he collapses. Oh well--he can thank Matt for the pizza in the morning, if that's the case.

It has been a while though, now that he's thinking about it...

Matt scoffs. "We're not far from my place — " He grabs his billy club, grappling the fire exit to follow behind Peter, ignoring his own sloppiness. "You worry about yourself, kid, I've been doing this for longer than you," he grumbles, hauling himself behind Peter somewhat successfully. It’s not even half true, but he can’t bring himself to care about the validity of it when he knows it’ll knock Peter through a loop. "A treat, though? Think I'd like a taste--" he says, shooting Peter another grin.

Peter shoots him a disbelieving glare, hidden behind both his mask and Matt's blindness. Maybe he should get some rest, himself. "Getting ready for retirement soon, Red?" he teases as he watches his mischievous devil stumble. He's going to be impressed if he even manages to find his apartment in this state.

Peter has a little more energy to get rid of, though, and his heart is hammering in his chest. What a beautifully messy man. No, no, Peter-- "I'll race you home. Winner gets a blowjob!" He blurts without thought, and takes off before Matt can answer, overwhelmed by the panic creeping up his sternum. When did Matt's place become home?

Matt listens to Peter kick off the rooftop and speed away before he has a chance to respond at all. That shithead. He goes to lunge forward himself, but loses his balance before he kicks off, leaving him wobbling on a rooftop a few buildings away from his. "Shit," he curses. His radar flickers in and out, ears ringing. "Okay..." he breathes, hands beginning to tremble. He'll be fine, he's gotten home from here before--he'll just have to walk. Embarrassing. He grabs the phone in his pouch, and texts Peter.

Hey Pete, I'm running behind.

He rubs his tongue over his split lip, sighing wearily.

I'll still do that job for you, though. ;)

Peter sits himself outside Matt’s building, enjoying the sight of the city at night. He does enjoy these moments, able to spin a web and simply observe, relax, wait. It's not distracting enough, though. His mind is playing the same thought on repeat, and he's not mentally prepared to deal with this shit right now. It's not that he doesn't want to be with Matt, because he really really wants to. So badly. But Matt's home is Matt's home. It can't be Peter's home too. He can't invade Matt's life like that. He has to shut down that train of thought, somehow. Peter has his own home. He has an apartment he pays a ridiculous amount of money to keep.

It’s Matt's home. Matt's home, Matt's home, he chants to himself, trying to force it to stick. He's interrupted from his internal panic by the chime of an incoming text, and he smiles gently to himself when he reads it. That gentle smile grows wicked and hungry as he receives the next, however.

can't wait ;) he texts back, mentally preparing to carry that idiot to bed, and to clean his gear of blood and sweat and grime.

Matt takes his time scaling down from the roof. He's shaky, and now that he's coming down from the adrenaline, his body feels heavy, cold, achey. He feels sapped, and the fact that his sight has gone out leaves him disoriented--with a wound to his pride as well. When it rains, it pours on Matthew Murdock. And yet, it seems Peter proves once again to be that guiding light of his. More literally, though, Matt smiles openly at the auto-reading of Peter's text, and the trip back home--though miserable and foggy and cold--goes by much easier.

Once he is (relatively) sure of where he is, he texts Peter again. Just outside the building. Let me let you in?

Peter smiles, and watches in silence as Matt walks down the street. It's so different from the fearless Daredevil he's so used to. Matt would likely not appreciate that thought, though. But… Seeing him so human, so vulnerable and pure, even in the badass suit--it makes something swell in Peter's chest. Even as the blind lawyer, Matt Murdock, he looks untouchable. Strong and confident and all-consuming. Peter gets this overwhelming urge to protect this side of Matt. That's his devil. And no one is ever going to mess with him. Not if he can help it.

He feels his phone vibrate on his hip, and doesn't bother fishing it out. Opting to just lower himself, as soundlessly as possible, from his resting spot. He twists around and lands on the balls of his feet just behind the worn out devil, and slides his arm around his waist. Matt could probably hear his heartbeat from miles away, anyway. (He's sort of jealous of that hearing, okay? Leave him alone. Who doesn't want to be able to identify every New Yorker in the vicinity by their heartbeat?)  
Matt shivers as Peter’s chilled hand brushes at his waist. Sure, he smelled and heard Peter before he was coming, but Matt simply just could not resist that ghost of a touch. “Mm. Hello, there,” he murmurs. “We’re not in civvies,” he says, stating the obvious.

"People should be used to heroes helping each other out by now," Peter mutters back, ignoring the goosebumps that run down his spine at Matt's gruff voice. He takes his arm around his shoulder and guides him to the stairs to his building. Then he stops. Maybe walking through the front door isn't such a good idea. Without asking permission, he shoots a web up and grips Matt's waist a little tighter.

Matt frowns at the noise and touch, delayed realization hitting before he even has the chance to pull faces. “If you’re gonna do that—“ Matt starts, suddenly, knowing where this was headed.

"Just hold on to me. And don't puke on my suit." He feels the arm around his shoulder tightening slightly, and feels warm all over, heart racing. The chilled night air whips around them as they shoot up and out of the way from prying eyes. He's not too worried about Matt getting sick from that small flying lesson, really. They've been swinging through the city together before--but then again, usually he only has to haul Matt around like this when he’s been stupid and refused to aknowledge his own limits. It's barely a five second trip, but Peter suddenly wishes he could have this warm body clinging to him forever. It feels nice, being trusted like that.

Matt levels his breathing, eyes closed, as Peter swings them to the roof of his apartment. He can do this. There’s a jolt, and weightlessness—like always—but his head and stomach take a moment to catch up which makes the landing perfect, and the seconds after a blurry fuzz of background ringing and teetering on his feet. “Not puking,” Matt grits out, but pushes Peter away from him regardless. (Just in case.) Matt grits his teeth, measuring his breath.

Peter has to bite his lip to hold in a laugh. Idiot.

"So… Pizza?" he asks innocently. He rocks on his feet, and waits for Matt to settle. He's gotta be so tired if he's struggling from that little trip. Peter can't wait until he can tuck them in under the silky sheets and help the man relax.

Matt gives a tired, tense hum, shuffling stiffly in the general direction of his rooftop entry. “Whatever kind you want,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. Puking is quicking becoming a real possibility, even with solid ground under his feet again. He feels wrong.

The movements make Peter second guess agreeing to come back here at all. Is Matt still mad at him — ? Maybe he should just get him to bed and head home... It doesn't really look like he wants him here. He scrambles ahead of him anyway, opening the skylight, but he doesn't dare help him get inside. He doesn't need Matt to be more irritated than he already is. He's just tired, he tells himself. They can talk it out tomorrow. Whatever it is that's bothering him.

Matt grunts as he lets himself in through his skylight, another head spinning feat. At least, though, he’s yet to hurl, and he’s happy to sink onto his couch the moment he finds it. He melts, tension seeping out of his seams. “...Your usual place deliver to this area of town?” He asks after a moment.

Peter rips off his mask and inhales his first breath of fresh air in what feels like forever. Matt looks like he's about to pass out any second. Pizza can wait. He steps over to the couch, a little hesitant, not really sure how to go about this without setting the man off. He doesn't understand this sudden turn of events. They were fine just minutes ago, right? What the hell did Peter do to light the spark of anger he just managed to stomp out? He exhales sharply, and reaches out for Matt's boot. At least he can help him out of his suit before he falls asleep.

He hums dismissively at the question though. He's pretty sure they do deliver here, but it can wait.

Matt gives a low appreciative grunt as Peter helps him out of his boots, offering whatever uncoordinated help he can to shuck them off. “I got the rest,” he murmurs, lazily loosening the zipper on his top. He slouches against the couch again, mask still on.“Sit down, Peter.”

Peter settles on the couch, and helps Matt out of his helmet. He might say he's got this, but this has got to be the worst attempt at persuading someone that it’s not complete bullshit that he's ever seen. He cards his gloved fingers through the matted hair, and takes a moment to locate any injuries that might need to be looked at. There's a few bruises littering his torso, and a split lip that definitely needs ice. He gets back on his feet, kisses Matt's temple and murmurs against his pale, sweaty skin "I'll be right back. We need to fix that lip of yours."

Matt grunts at the pull of his helmet, then promptly melts underneath Peter's fingertips. That sweet affection soothing his nerves, his warmth exuding from his core. That is, until he moves to leave. “Nngh. Pete—'' Matt reaches for Peter’s general area, palming the air. “C’mon, you mother hen, s’just my lip.”

Peter settles back down with a bag of ice in a towel, and holds it against the swollen, bloodied lip. "Yeah, well, I'm not kissing it when it looks like that. I'll get blood in my mouth," he whispers, and lets his fingers find their way back to Matt's hair.

Matt leans into Peter, even through the ice pack. “You don’t think that’s sexy, Pete?” he teases, wrapping his arm around Peter's waist and hauling him forward, trapping Peter with his body weight. “Don’t I owe you something—?”  
Peter's heart skips a beat at the manhandling, and he shivers at the gravelly, smoke-like voice. It would absolutely be a nice ending to this very confusing rollercoaster of a night...

He drops the bag of ice somewhere on the floor and grabs Matt's face with both hands. God bless his strength, he thinks, as he shifts them on the couch. He straddles Matt, and another shiver runs down his spine at the feeling of those strong, heavy thighs underneath him. He smirks at Matt's expression, and leans in to kiss him, gently, avoiding the cut. He hums into Matt’s mouth. Delicious.

Matt grins. “Don’t mind my blood on your dick, but not in your mouth?” He quips, smirking into the kiss. He’s a little delirious, but just a little romp won’t kill him, right? He glides his gloved hands over Peter's side, grabbing at his ass.

"Well, I'm not gonna taste your blood on my dick, now am I?" He quips back, and latches his lips onto his jaw, trailing sloppy kisses along the chiseled bone and down his neck. He rolls his hips once, soaking himself in the warmth that spread from low in his stomach, and hums appreciatively as strong hands knead his ass.

This is good, he thinks, and licks at the tender spot behind Matt's ear. Way better than fighting. We should do this all the time.

A small, choked gasp escapes Matt's throat. That tongue. "Peter — " he gunts, squeezing Peter's butt and thighs, blessing him for having such a tight costume. "Ah... Gonna keep spoiling me or — ?"

"I think you deserve a little spoiling, don't you?" He mumbles and nibbles at Matt's earlobe, rolling his hips again, and suppressing a moan at the friction.

Mat shudders, almost violently. Deserve? he thinks. "Thought I was — ahem. Uhm. Spoiling you," he struggles out, his hips tipping in time with Peter's as his fingertips slip past the band of Peter's bottoms.

Peter hums, and lifts his hips so Matt can slip his suit below his ass. He moans low in his chest at the feeling of warm hands against his skin. He does not regret not wearing boxers under the suit right now, that's for sure. "You do so much good, Matty. You deserve to be taken care of, too," he purrs, and lets his hand travel down the defined chest and abs, cupping his crotch through the leathery material.

Matt's hands, clumsy but unbearably warm against Peter's skin shuck his suit bottom off. Matt chuckles. "Commando?" He teases, tugging the bottoms to Peter's knees and pointedly ignoring Peter's words, working his gloves off with his mouth.

"Boxer seams are not very flattering in spandex, Matty," he states, matter of factly, and tugs at his leather pants. "Off," he orders and gets to his feet, letting his own suit pool around his ankles and stepping out of it. This should be moved to the bedroom, because there's no way he'll have any sort of energy left to carry Matt to bed afterwards.

Matt rolls his eyes and scoffs before he can think about it. He hauls himself upwards anyways, working on his clothes as he slowly makes his way to the bedroom. “Fine. But it’ll be the only time we fuck with my radar on the fritz,” he says, tossing his suit top and undershirt to the side.

Peter won't respond to that. Not taking the bait, Murdock. Instead, he moves in front of Matt as he tosses away the rest of his suit, and stops him with a hand on his chest in the doorway. "So… Let me take care of you, then." He purrs, and slides his hand down, feels the sweat slick skin move with every breath Matt takes, and bites his lip as his hand travels further down. His fingers curl around his shaft, and he tightens his hold, slowly, gently, and waits.

Matt braces the doorway, Peter’s gentle touch hitting him hard. “Christ,” Matt curses through clenched teeth, hiding his face against his forearm, hands shaking. There’s a moment where he doesn’t breathe, so laser focused on that touch that his head swims. “Pete, bed—“ Matt grunts, his knees buckling.

Peter hums, moves his hands up Matt's arms, barely touching him as he circles his wrists and guides his hands around his shoulders, so he can have something to hold on to. He leans in, lets his lips graze the corner of his mouth, trying to distract him a little from the feeling of his hands as they grab his thighs and lift him off the ground. Peter knows all too well what sensitive senses can do, but hopefully, it's a good overload now.

"Don't worry, Matty. I've got you," he murmurs, and lays him gently down on the silky sheets, then crawls onto the bed, hovering over him. Letting Matt take his time, and set the pace.

Matt gasps, clinging to Peter for the briefest of moments as he is, quite literally, swept off his feet. And at the moment of his back hitting his bedsheets — so gently — he's grateful for splurging on such nice sheets. Because, as it turns out, and loathe to admit it as he is--he squirms, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion and relief. Back arching, he aches for more, immediately. He reaches out for Peter, breathing harshly, face flushed. "Peter?" He pants.

"I'm here, Matty. I've got you," he whispers in his ear, kisses along his jaw and cheek, before he captures his lips, swallowing down his rushed breathing, split lip be damned. He lowers his hips, rolls them against Matt's, and his own breath stutters at the sensation.

Matt groans into Peter's mouth, wrapping his arms around him, anchoring them. "Mnh — " He writhes under Peter's weight, cock twitching. "Fuck, Pete — " He borderline whines, his hands sliding along Peter's ribs, feverish and trembling.

Peter kisses and licks down Matt's damp chest, hands traveling down his sides, gripping his thighs. No one will ever be able to convince him there's someone out there with better ones. He traces a scar with the pad of his thumb, and licks down his abs. He doubts there's anyone out there with any better parts, really. If the lawyer business somehow goes south, he'll force Matt into modeling. Maybe. Or not. Peter doesn't like sharing. Even through a camera.

Matt's cock is twitching and red and practically screaming. I wonder what it takes to make Matt scream? Peter thinks, offhandedly, and lets the tip of his tongue touch the swollen head, just barely, as he watches Matt's reaction.

He groans, low and lazy, reveling in Peter's hands and mouth. Thin, spidery fingers dancing over his skin, and he's half drunk in bliss. And then Peter has him open-mouth gasping, thighs twitching closed around him. "Fuck —! " he gasps, hands finding Peter's soft curls.

Peter smirks and blows on the tip of his cock, watches it twitching, before he drags his tongue along the underside of the shaft, moaning at the taste and feel of it. Matt twitches and sucks in a lungful of air as Peter goes down on him, fingers tense in his messy hair, hips arching upwards. "Brat," he accuses, lovingly.

Peter huffs, and before he can really think too hard about anything, he wraps his lips around him, and sinks down until the head hits the back of his throat. His hand finds Matt's in his hair, squeezing, encouraging him to grip a little tighter. To lose himself a little. Peter won't break. He hums low in his chest, knows the vibrations will help Matt let go.

"Fff — " Matt chokes in a half-gasp, tugging on Peter's curls as his gut explodes with heat, his body tense in the aftershocks. "Pete — " he begs, breathless and warm, before relaxing with Peter's gentle hums. Peter lets go of Matt's cock, leaning back over him, smiling at his breathlessness, and kisses the open mouth. His hand fumbles for the nightstand in the dark, and locates the lube he knows is stored in the drawer.

"You doin' okay, there, Red?" He asks, playfully, as he coats his own fingers. He watches Matt's face in the darkness, his hand finding his entrance easily enough, rubbing circles around it, teasing him.

Matt lazily, distractedly, kisses Peter back as he reclines, listening. Peter lubes up and quickly the anticipatory sounds are nothing compared to his touch. “Ah—!” He ruts his hips against Peter’s fingers, toes curling.

Peter pushes his first finger in, carefully, slowly. And bites his lip to suppress the moans threatening to escape at the warm, velvety feeling of Matt clenching around him. He needs to speed this up if he's gonna last at all. His own dick is pulsing, aching and neglected. Matt takes a shaky breath, forcing himself to relax. HeMatt simply shudders as Peter pushes his finger into him, hand shooting out to grab onto himPeter, somehow. To anchor himself in his blindness and bliss. "Pete, just —nngh... More," he groans lowly, fucking himself down on Peter's finger.

Peter hides his face in the crook of Matt's neck and presses in another finger, pumping them in and out of that delicious heat. He twists and curls his fingers, finding the bundle of nerves, rubbing against it. Matt clutches at the back of Peter's head with one hand, haphazardly gripping his curls, and tosses his head back, his free hand snaking between them in an attempt to find Peter's cock. Matt groans, open mouthed and panting, as Peter meticulously takes him apart from the inside. His body shakes underneath Peter's weight, the sound of their combined breathing raking over Matt's skin. "Pete — " he chokes.

Peter lifts his head, and offers a sloppy kiss as he takes his fingers out, and blindly searches for the lube again. He's panting and a little desperate, shaking from anticipation and the want, but he manages to pry himself from Matt's grip on his hair, and settles back to lean on his heels, squirts probably much more lube than necessary on his hand, and slicks up his cock, watching it drip down onto the soft sheets underneath him.

He lines himself up, shivers from the fever-bright heat that comes in contact with his head, and braces himself with one hand gripping the headboard. His eyes are trained on Matt's blissed out, unseeing ones, and he doesn't think he's ever seen anything as beautiful in his entire life. He'll never get tired of them. "You ready?" He pants out, and doesn't even recognize his own voice, so low and rusty and filled with arousal.

"Fuck, yes, hurry up," Matt complains, rolling his hips against the slick pressure of Peter's cock. "Thought you said I was going to be able to sleep sometime tonight — " he quips, a little unsteady, despite himself. Peter laughs, a breathless huff, and wraps his lips around Matt's as he pushes the head of his cock inside. It's almost too much, with the way Matt closes around him, so tight, and so warm. Peter grips the headboard tighter. It creaks under his fingers, but he figures it's better to break that than any part of Matt he would have grabbed onto, instead.

He sinks all the way in, slowly, torturing himself. And probably Matt, too. He'll make it up to him soon enough. He just needs the go ahead to move. Matt kisses Peter sloppily, his hands wandering over Peter's taut body as his bed frame creaks and groans beneath them. He's got to say, it's a shame that they haven't played with Peter's sheer strength in bed before. He bottoms out and Matt's muscles tense in waves, his face screwed up and blissed out. "Fuck — ! C'mon, Pete, fuck me — "

Peter has to take a few breaths to calm himself, before he does anything, or he'll accidentally split Matt in half. "I'm working on it, give me a minute," he chokes out, and breathes through his nose one more time, before slowly pulling out, and slamming back in with as much force as he dares to use. He takes hold of the headboard with both hands, and it splinters under his fingers.

Matt grunts, impatient and wrecked. He wants to complain, writhe under Peter until one of them can't take it anymore, but Peter beats him to the punch. "Pet — oOH, FUCK — !" Matt screams, arching into Peter and shaking like a leaf, breathless and flushed and halfway incoherent.

So that's what it takes to make him scream, Peter's brain supplies, and he sets a pace that's probably a little too fast for any other normal human. From the sounds coming from under him, though, it doesn't sound like Matt minds much. He lets go of the ruined headboard and leans down to hide his face in his neck, sucking a bright purple mark on the tender skin there. His hands are shaking with the force it takes to restrain himself, but he manages to slide them down Matt's glistening skin, grabbing at his legs, guiding them around his waist so he can get a little more leverage.

Matt whimpers as Peter manhandles him, complete putty in Peter's hands at this point. "Ohfuckohfuckohfuck," he mutters, pressing his cheek against Peter's hair, cock twitching at the thought of a dark, ugly mark on him that Peter put there. "H-hh..." Matt starts, struggling to speak past the blitz of sensation.

"Fuck, Matty, you have no idea how good you feel," he murmurs, and licks over the bruise he just made. He feels the heat in his stomach build up, and it feels so good, he wants to chase it, but he doesn't want it to end just yet. He snakes a trembling hand between them, and takes a hold of Matt's leaking cock and raises his head so he can watch those pale, beautiful eyes, still filled with so much emotion, and pumps his fist in tune with his rough thrusts.

Matt whines, teeth digging into his lip, blood glistening up and over his chin. “Fuck,” he whispers to himself, face crumpling as Peter’s touch emerges from his haze. “Peter, I—” he chokes, lip trembling, and hugs Peter’s hips with his feverish, trembling thighs.

Peter whimpers, he's not gonna be able to keep this up for much longer. His thrusts grow more sloppy as the arousal and warmth sparkles in his gut, spreading all through his body, and he grips Matt's cock a little tighter, whispering, "Come for me Matty," and nibbles on his earlobe.

Matt gives a choked cry, heart racing in time with Peter’s. He’s incoherent, hit with a whitehot, head spinning orgasm that he hasn’t had in years. “P-pete...” he whimpers.

And Matt’s voice, his hammering heart and that rhythmic clenching around his cock is what makes Peter follow over the edge with a growl that vibrates through his whole body. Matt grits his teeth, reaching clumsily into the dark for—anything to ground him. His world is tumbling head over heels, and though he’s euphoric and comfortable and safe— it is... unpleasant. “Nngk... Fuck, P-Pete—“

Peter collapses on top of Matt, and rolls over to the side. Every bone in his body reduced to goo. He hisses at the cold as his dick slides out. He's covered in sweat and cum and lube and whatever else kind of substances he might have picked up on patrol, and he feels gross, but he doesn't have any energy left to move.

But of course, his stomach chooses that moment to complain about the lack of pizza it was promised. No way is he gonna struggle into clothes to pick up any food now, though. He's not even sure he'd be able to stand if he tried. Matt blindly lands a hand on Peter, immediately curling into him, sweaty forehead pressed into Peter’s belly. “Mmmh... ugh.” Matt pulls a face, pulling Peter closer, overwarm cheek smooshed upwards. “You’re hungry, aren’t you,” he mumbles, tired and clearly disinterested in the food himself.

Peter grunts, and drags his fingers through Matt's hair. They could probably use a shower, the both of them. "Nah, it's fine. I'll grab something on my way home tomorrow" he mumbles, and silently congratulates himself with being able to dismiss the previous thought of Matt's apartment as home. Good boy, Pete. Keep this up and everything's gonna be just fine.

Matt’s eyes flutter shut at the touch. “Okay. My fridge is there if you need it, kid,” he murmurs. “If I eat anything, I may lose it, so—it’s all yours.”

"Thanks, Red" he whispers and shifts them so he can wrap his arms around the limp bundle of muscles.

He yawns and closes his eyes. If his internal clock is somewhat right, he'll have to be up in about two hours. He can do that. He's just gonna stay here until Matt falls asleep.

Matt relaxes in Peter’s arms, wrapping his own arms around the brunet. “Mhm...”

Peter watches as Matt's breathing evens out and his entire body goes lax in his arms. He could probably watch him like this all night, if he had the chance. He's not going to, though. That would be creepy. Stay clear of that path, pal, he reminds himself, because he can be a disgusting human being if he doesn't keep himself in check. He wriggles out from Matt's hold, and looks at the destroyed headboard and winces. You're not even human, idiot. You're a fucking freak, his brain supplies as he mentally tries to figure out how he'll be able to pay rent and replace the damn thing, while also keep his greedy stomach happy.

He gives Matt one last look before he leaves the bedroom, because he can't help himself. He's got to be one of the few breathing masterpieces out there. All strong muscles and quick thoughts. And those eyes.

He shakes his head and tip toes out into the living room, picks up his suit that ended up scattered all over Matt’s apartment. He takes Matt's suit and places it in the bathroom, and pointedly ignores the idea of a hot shower. He's not wasting Matt's water. Get a grip, Peter.

As he hauls himself out of the skylight, he takes a deep breath, fills his lungs with fresh (or as fresh as it can get, anyway) New York air, and leaps off the roof before he can somehow change his mind and go back to that nice, warm bed.

You're so screwed, Pete. What the hell are you doing? And isn't that the million dollar question of the century? Somehow, getting together with Matt — Daredevil, the vigilante who spends most of his life micro managing the fuck out of Hell's kitchen, offering his very human life on a silver platter for every bad guy out there — didn't strike Peter as a bad idea at the time.

It sounds like a really shitty deal right now. Peter's not sure he can handle losing any more people. Falling for one of the idiots with absolutely no regard for their own safety... You're the idiot here, moron.

Well, Peter just has to make sure Matt doesn't get killed any time soon, then. He can do that. It's not like his life is scrambled for time already.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking out the first chapter! Please, please comment and send encouragement to the authors! We're both in the thick of life rn, but this has been such a sweet respite to work on. Shout out to rainbowpui (here and on twt/tumblr) for being such a rock and a sounding board for me specifically. Give them a follow! They have good energy. You can find the authors on tumblr at spideydevils and kreket-popcorn-lover, and you can find me @Solluxiisms on twt! I tweet lots about these idiots.
> 
> Join the spideydevil server!  
> https://discord.gg/MPQtcKuH4T


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